


The April Rose

by Fiorenza_a



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiorenza_a/pseuds/Fiorenza_a
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon leaned back on his chair at the small table outside the quaint roadside café and studied his partner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Napoleon leaned back on his chair at the small table outside the quaint roadside café and studied his partner standing a few feet away, paying the bill and asking directions from a clearly interested waiter.

The young waiter never took his gaze from Illya's lips. Illya seemed oblivious. Illya always seemed oblivious. For a smart man with keen instincts Illya's blind spot in this regard was something of a mystery. Illya could smell a concealed weapon in a crowded room from a hundred paces. He could scent a lie and detect a betrayal with the instincts of a swine searching truffles. But put the man in front of someone who thought him beautiful and he was oblivious. 

Napoleon's mouth twitched into a smile. He should know, he had thought the man beautiful for years and Illya had been oblivious. Not that Napoleon had been obvious. He had made the decision early that what they did, what they could achieve together as a team, was more important than a quick tumble and some awkward morning conversation. But that hadn't meant he hadn't allowed his mind to stray a little as it did now. 

The mission was over. They had three days leave. They had elected to spend it in the pretty rural byways of this tranquil region. Anyone who could have been remotely construed as a danger had been rounded up or killed. They were in no more peril here than they would have been in New York and Waverly had sanctioned the holiday. All they needed now was a hotel and Illya was sorting that out as he watched. 

The waiter had placed a hand in the small of Illya's back in order to turn him towards the direction in which he was indicating. The young man's eyes were alight with the pleasure of the contact and Illya was... well Illya was oblivious. 

Napoleon's contemplation of all things Kuryakin was interrupted by the attractive young waitress who had brought their coffees returning to the table to collect their cups. She smiled at Napoleon and Napoleon was not oblivious, Napoleon was all interest. He had already noted the presence of this black haired beauty and had resolved to do all his coffee drinking under the enticing gaze of those charcoal eyes.

Napoleon was not oblivious to anyone who thought him beautiful. He noticed each and every one of them. He did not always choose to do anything about what he had noticed, but he always noticed it. He had been noticing it since the first time it had truly dawned on him that little girls were different from little boys. And little girls were so nice, and kept getting nicer as he grew, until one day he had been all grown up and willing to concede that the nicest thing he knew was a little girl who was all grown up too. 

But along the way he had also noticed that sometimes it was the little boys who looked at him. He hadn't done much about this at first. It had been so very nice being noticed by the little girls. But as he got older this other interest beguiled him more and more until, by the time he had joined U.N.C.L.E., he had explored both areas of interest and had found himself equally entertained. For in the end entertainment was all it was. It was never serious; when he had been younger because, whether he had known it or not, he hadn't been ready for anything more and after he joined U.N.C.L.E. because he realised you couldn't ask anyone to care for you and go on being an effective agent. No one took a wife just to make her a widow. So entertainment it had remained.

Which brought him right back to Illya. Illya was not entertainment. Illya was someone he cared for and that made everything so much more complicated. And so much more simple. He could look at the Russian. He could think about the Russian. He could care for the Russian. But he couldn't entertain himself with the Russian. The rules were simple and easy to follow. 

Or at least they had been. 

They had been right up until a few months ago, when he realised that somewhere between saving Illya's perfectly formed rear end from yet another THRUSH attempt to put it six feet under and one of his many flirtations with the fairer sex, his mind wasn't just straying in the direction of the Russian. It was positively fixated with it. 

Illya was making his way back to the table, followed by the yearning gaze of the young waiter. The waitress paused in her duties to smile at him. Illya nodded politely and resumed his seat at the table. Napoleon noted wryly that the enticing charcoal eyes stayed with him longer than was strictly required by courtesy. As ever Illya's oblivion seemed resolutely undinted. 

''I think you have an admirer'' said Napoleon.

''Indeed?'' responded Illya disinterestedly. ''Apparently the only, and therefore the best, hotel the village has to offer is about half a mile down the road. I suggest we finish here and then try to book a room. According to the waiter we should be in luck since this is a quiet time of year. In a few weeks there is flower festival and things get much busier. Pity we shan't be here for that. l find these regional festivals fascinating, so many of them have bloodthirsty origins.''

''Ghoul'' accused Napoleon good naturedly.

Illya raised a hand unnecessarily to attract the attention of the waitress. Napoleon smiled, her attention had never been far from him. ''I was wondering if you could help us'' he said.

''Of course sir. What did you need?''

''I was wondering if you could recommend any local points of interest since my friend and I will be staying for a few days?'' 

The waitress beamed and Napoleon smiled again. It would seem he had lost this one to his partner.

''I have the day off tomorrow, perhaps I could show you, and of course your friend, some of the sights?'' 

Napoleon waited for Illya to politely decline so that he could graciously accept. His confidence far too secure to be subject to the frailties of lesser mortals. 

''We would be honoured'' said Illya. ''Perhaps if we called for you here at nine-thirty?''

''Yes I can be here then. I'll bring my friend Maria, she works in the local bakery.''

''Of course'' said Illya ''may I ask your name?''

''Delia, and yours?'' 

''My name is Illya, my friend is called Napoleon.'' 

Delia raised an eyebrow upon hearing Napoleon's name, but only said ''Illya? I thought I heard something in your accent.'' 

''And I in yours. Would I be right in thinking Romania?'' 

Delia nodded ''I'm here on a visa. Just for the summer. I've wanted to travel for so long. It was an opportunity I never thought I would have.''

''One must always make the most of the opportunities life offers'' advised Illya. Delia beamed again and Napoleon wasn't entirely sure that Illya hadn't been aware of the implicit invitation contained in his advice.

After Delia had left them Napoleon road tested a theory with regard to Illya's current uncharacteristic enthusiasm for the joys of the chase.

''You suspect something?'' he enquired.

''Other than that we will have a pleasant day in delightful company? No'' said Illya. Then in response to Napoleon's expression. ''We are on holiday Napoleon.''

''Some of us more than others, it would seem'' replied Napoleon. 


	2. Chapter 2

They called for Maria and Delia at the appointed time in a hired vehicle of Napoleon's choosing. Open top and sporty. Napoleon drove and Illya sat in the passenger seat. He alighted to open the door for the young women and to assist them into the back seats.

Napoleon watched the performance with interest. Illya was never anything less than chivalrous on these occasions, but solicitously attentive was something new. Napoleon cast a curious glance at his partner as he reseated himself.

Illya turned inscrutably innocent eyes towards him and said ''Shall we go?'' and then turning to the back seat ''Where do you suggest first?''

''The lake'' replied Delia ''just follow the signs.''

''It's beautiful this time of year'' added Maria ''and my cousin has a boat we can use.''

''The lake it is then'' said Napoleon. Maria had proven to be as blonde as Delia was dark, pleasingly plump and with a complexion that looked as if it had been spun from cream. It promised a seductive softness and Napoleon was seduced. 

It took barely forty minutes to reach the lake and Napoleon was appropriately impressed. Mirror-glass water reflecting low mountains and green forest. Napoleon found somewhere to park and they made their way down to the little wharf. 

As promised a small wooden speedboat was tethered to its moorings at the end of the ancient planking.

''If we take it across to the other side there is a café where we can get lunch'' said Delia.

Whatever spirit had possessed Illya obviously hadn't entirely usurped his personality because the Russian smiled at the mere mention of a meal. 

''You like your food?'' enquired Delia.

''He likes everybody's food'' Napoleon responded for him.

''I like a man who appreciates his food'' said Delia approvingly ''it shows a zest for life.''

Illya smiled again. ''I appreciate life'' he said. 

''A rare gift'' Delia responded and Napoleon suspected that he had missed a cultural nuance. 

Napoleon helped Maria and Delia into the boat and then grinning, turned with the same courtly concern to help Illya. Illya eyed him disdainfully and climbed aboard unaided.

Napoleon took the wheel of the boat, as he had the wheel of the car, and they headed out across the lake at a jaunty pace. 

Maria sat at the back and allowed the breeze to blow through her blonde locks without concern, a subtle pink glow blossoming on her cheeks. Napoleon smiled contentedly. Happy with his lot and for once undistracted by the Russian's proximity. 

The Russian was talking earnestly to Delia in something that didn't sound like English. Napoleon was enjoying himself far too much to care. If Illya had found a friend, well then, good for Illya. He had long despaired of his partner's interest in things female. Sometimes the man looked positively terrified by the prospect. Napoleon couldn't imagine a life without the feminine. He knew all there was to know about being a man, for him the mystery that was woman always lent proceedings a certain additional je ne sais quoi. Illya rarely seemed to grasp the benefits of this. 

Maria started to hum, and then to sing. She had a strong attractive voice and the song was well known locally. Delia joined in and then, to Napoleon's surprise, so did Illya. Equally sure of the words and obviously enjoying himself. Napoleon hadn't heard the song before he'd come to the region and although he was now familiar with the melody the words still eluded him.

Illya seemed to be more at home here than Napoleon ever remembered seeing him. Illya didn't lack self assurance, the female of the species notwithstanding, but he rarely seemed at ease. At the moment he seemed positively relaxed. And Napoleon realised with a jolt that he wasn't just sitting next to Delia, he was holding her hand. 

Well the man did know what to do with a woman, even if he was more skittish about employing that particular skill than he was about his other talents. Napoleon found himself feeling something unaccustomed. So unaccustomed he couldn't place it at first. When he did place it the shock of it caught his breath. He was jealous. 

Napoleon quelled the unaccustomed vice ruthlessly. Whatever his recent discoveries about his feelings for the Russian there could be no jealousy, not between partners. That sort of thing could get one of them killed and Illya deserved better than that. 

Delia giggled appreciatively at something Illya had said, some piece of the Russian's idiosyncratic wit forever lost to the wind.

Perhaps if he concentrated on Maria, thought Napoleon. After all, it was hardly an onerous task. Maria was about as far from onerous as Napoleon could imagine. A bundle of curves held together in a dress. The sort of woman that made him glad he liked women. He turned to smile at her and was rewarded by a giggle to match Delia's. Maria stood up and made her way with surprising agility towards Napoleon. That sort of physical dexterity always boded well. She faltered at the last, whether by accident or design, and landed in Napoleon's arms. ''Hello'' he said.

''Hello'' she returned ''Shouldn't you have your hands on the wheel?''

''I like them where they are'' said Napoleon with equal amounts of honesty and gallantry.

''I'm not going to argue the point'' said Maria happily ''but won't we run aground or something?'' 

''Unlikely in the middle of a lake'' Napoleon assured her. Then he turned to lock the wheel so that the little boat began to circle aimlessly. ''Now come here'' he said kissing her.

''Aye aye Captain'' she said and traded his kiss for one of hers.

''I don't know why sailors have a girl in every port, when they could just take one with them'' he observed.

''Perhaps they like the variety?'' she suggested.

''Could be something in that'' conceded Napoleon happily engaged in swapping one kiss for another.

''I think we should make for shore now'' Illya interrupted.

Napoleon looked up, having successfully managed to forget his partner's presence for the last few minutes. 

''We're getting low on fuel'' said Illya sensibly ''we won't have enough to get back.'' 

''We could always swim back'' offered Napoleon.

''Not today'' said Illya determinedly.

''Perhaps not'' agreed Napoleon and took the wheel once again, one arm around Maria. 

He brought the little boat safely into shore, nudging her against the pier. Illya jumped out to secure her and then he helped first Delia and then Maria out of the boat and onto the pier. Napoleon climbed out last and immediately resumed holding Maria. Her pliant softness seemed to anchor him in the face of his partner's unaccustomed behaviour.

''Lunch?'' enquired Illya with a reassuring degree of hopefulness. 

Napoleon looked from Maria to Delia and seeing no dissent agreed for all of them ''Lunch.'' 

Illya led the way and they seated themselves at a terrace table with a view of the lake. Lunch was, unsurprisingly, a fish salad. Locally caught and so fresh it looked as if it would swim away if thrown back. Illya laughed, joked and entertained. Napoleon felt oddly warmed. It wasn't often Illya gave free reign to this aspect of his personality. No matter if Delia was the cause. It was good to see him like this. 'I appreciate life'. Perhaps the Russian was simply doing that. Neither of them could take living for granted.

''What next?'' asked Napoleon. He was enjoying himself. Live in the moment, wasn't that always the advice?

''We can take the boat back across the lake and take the car down to the ruins'' suggested Maria.

''Ruins?'' enquired Napoleon.

''Roman, an amphitheatre, though it's mostly crumbled away, but it catches the afternoon sun and the view is spectacular'' explained Maria.

Enchanted by the morning on the lake, Napoleon was happy to accept this recommendation also.

''Then it's agreed'' said Illya ''an afternoon at the amphitheatre. Perhaps I could persuade the kitchen...'' and he got up and disappeared into the café.

He reappeared after Napoleon had settled the bill and had seated the little party in the speedboat once more. 

He held up a cardboard box tied with string as he climbed in ''A little something for later on'' he said.


	3. Chapter 3

The amphitheatre was everything Maria had promised. The afternoon sun warmed but didn't burn and the scrubby grasses growing up between the long abandoned stones were interwoven with wild flowers. Insects chirruped and birds sang. Every now and then a lizard skittered out from under a stone as they passed. 

They settled themselves on a knoll and Illya opened his parcel. It revealed three bottles of wine, some paper cups, assorted cheeses and some bread. Illya took out his pocket knife and cut some bread and cheese for Maria and then for Delia while Napoleon poured the wine. Napoleon handed round the cups as Illya cut bread and cheese for himself and his partner.

''One of your better plans'' observed Napoleon.

''I think it has merit'' agreed Illya lazily. He had laid himself out, head cushioned in Delia's lap, eyes closed. Delia was stroking his hair and murmuring something in Russian. It sounded like a lullaby. Whatever it was, Illya was smiling contentedly.

Maria was nibbling cheese and sipping wine. ''Do you like it here?'' she asked.

Napoleon leaned in against her and nuzzled her neck ''One of your better plans'' he repeated to his new audience.

Maria smiled ''Glad you think so. I have another one.''

''Oh?'' said Napoleon happily nuzzling.

''Mmmm'' she said letting her empty cup fall at her side and pulling Napoleon down to lie with her on the grass.

''Ahh'' said Napoleon approvingly ''you won't hear an argument from me. I'm fully in support of all your plans. Do you have any others?''

''Well I did think...'' Maria said kissing him.

''Oh I think too...'' said Napoleon responding in kind ''I think very much too...'' 

They spent the next lazy hours warmed by the sun and each other. Eating cheese and drinking wine. Talking the sort of nonsense that people always talk on these occasions until finally, reluctantly, Delia said '''We should be going. Maria will be expected home.''

Maria looked regretfully at Napoleon ''My mother will expect me home. And Delia too, she is lodging with us.'' 

Napoleon smiled. This was an old fashioned place and nice girls didn't stay out late with their gentlemen acquaintances. Only a generation ago they wouldn't have gone out at all. The war had changed so much. He hauled himself to his feet and brushed the wisps of grass from his clothes before extending a hand to help Maria to hers. Then he retrieved his jacket, feeling a little off balance as he put it on without the weight of his gun beneath it. 

Illya had mirrored his actions, helping Delia to her feet, and was packing their rubbish back into the cardboard box in which their picnic had been contained. ''No need to be a litter bug'' he said to no one in particular. 

''Very commendable partner'' said Napoleon solemnly. ''We owe it to the next generation.''

Illya shot him a shy grin and started to head back to the car, box in one hand, Delia's hand in the other.

He was within a few yards of his goal when Delia screamed and Illya went down clutching his leg.

Napoleon went from unconcerned lassitude to field operative alertness with preternatural speed. At his partner's side almost before Illya had hit the ground.

''What is it?''

''Snake'' gasped Illya already fumbling for his pocket knife.

''Know what kind?'' 

''Viper'' panted Illya through clenched teeth.

''Get the car'' barked Napoleon to Delia, grabbing Illya's knife from him and using it to rip his trouser leg to ascertain the severity of the bite. Delia was standing immobile and dumb in front of him, wide eyed and clearly terrified. Maria dashed past her and threw herself behind the wheel of the car, starting the engine and pulling up beside Napoleon in seconds. Napoleon hauled Illya into the back with him, Maria shoving Delia unceremoniously into the passenger seat before resuming her place behind the wheel. 

Maria proved to be an able and audacious driver as Napoleon cradled Illya in the back seat. Illya was sweating and beginning to have trouble breathing. ''Hang on Illya, you hear me? We're getting you to hospital as fast as we can. All you have to do is hang on until we get there'' Napoleon instructed. 

''I shall endeavour to do as you ask'' Illya acknowledged with a wry smile.

''You'd better, you stubborn Russian. No slacking on the job.''

Illya sounded almost apologetic as he said ''I'm not sure this time Napoleon. I know that snake; there are no guarantees.'' 

''No Illya. No excuses. You hang on. You hear?''

''I promise you I certainly intend to try. It would be an ignominious end; to die of a snake bite as if I were some blundering tourist.'' 

''That's the spirit Illya. Let THRUSH kill you, like any self respecting U.N.C.L.E. agent.''

''I will make a note to remind myself not to die ignominiously'' Illya managed, attempting a sardonic smile but struggling now for every breath.

''If you could avoid dying at all, I would be grateful'' Napoleon responded with a little more sentiment than he had intended revealing. 

''Napoleon?'' 

''Yes, what is it?''

''No guarantees; if it is to be today my friend....wanted to say, I'm glad we met.'' Illya paused to try and catch his breath, heavier now in Napoleon's arms, losing his fight. ''It has been a good day.'' 

''Yes it has'' agreed Napoleon, fighting the sting of tears behind his eyes. 

Illya slipped into unconsciousness as Maria shot through the hospital gates, pulling up in the ambulance bay and shouting to a standby crew for help. 

They got Illya onto a stretcher and into the hospital with impressive efficiency. Napoleon hovered in the corridor as the Doctors worked. Maria beside him in quiet support. Delia standing apart from them in terrified isolation until Napoleon recovered himself sufficiently to offer her a grim smile and a few words of comfort.

The Doctor appeared twenty minutes later to say they had pumped Illya full of anti-venom and that his breathing was already improving but that they wanted to keep him in overnight. 

Napoleon nodded his understanding and asked to see Illya. He was led into a small cubicle where Illya lay. Illya was pale, even by his standards, but Napoleon had seen him in worse states. ''How are you feeling?'' he asked.

''Pretty good, considering'' responded Illya. ''My leg hurts but they say there's no permanent damage. Could be out of the field for a few weeks though. The Old Man's not going to be impressed.''

''You let me worry about that'' said Napoleon.

''Brave words'' said Illya with a wan attempt at a smile ''A little tired now. I'd like to get some sleep.''

''Get some sleep then, I'll take the girls home and be back later.''

''No need, they'll release me tomorrow. Just be here to pick me up.''

''Of course'' said Napoleon ''If you're sure.''

''I'm sure'' said Illya closing his eyes. He was asleep within moments. His face drawn and weary. Napoleon didn't want to leave, but neither did he want to ride roughshod over Illya's wishes. Napoleon found the Doctor. 

''If anything happens, if he needs anyone, I'm on this number'' said Napoleon giving the Doctor the number of the hotel ''Room 15. Even if he doesn't think he needs anyone, if you do, ring me.'' 

''I understand'' said the Doctor. ''Machismo, yes?''

''Machismo, no. Russian, yes.'' 

Napoleon drove the girls home. Delia left the car in a zombie like state of shock, Maria paused before leading her into the house to say to Napoleon ''She'll be alright. You will let me know how he is?''

Napoleon nodded ''He probably owes you his life. Thank you. For both of us. I don't want to think what might have happened if you hadn't got him to the hospital so fast.''

''You love him. I saw it in you all day. Maybe you should tell him.''

''He's my partner, he knows.''

Maria shook her head ''Partner yes, but this is something else. Tell him. Opportunities lost may never come again.''

Napoleon smiled at her ''I thought I was older than you. When did you learn such wisdom?''

''When I was a very little girl and told my father I hated him over some childish nonsense before he was posted missing. I was lucky, he came home that time and I got to see him again before he was killed. We were given our second chance, so many aren't.'' 

Napoleon reached out and held her hand ''Good luck Maria, I hope you find a man who deserves you.''

''And I you, Napoleon. Tell him.''


	4. Chapter 4

Illya was ready and waiting when Napoleon returned to the hospital. He was sitting, more or less patiently, in a wheelchair. Napoleon thought nothing of this, assuming it was hospital protocol at work. It was only when the orderly had wheeled the chair to the car that Napoleon realised the wheelchair was there of necessity. The orderly handed Illya a prosaically thick stemmed walking stick, which had been tucked at the back of the chair, and offered an arm in support as Illya attempted to stand. Napoleon was at his side immediately, helping with the door and trying to settle Illya comfortably into the passenger seat. The Russian put up his usual defences against such help, but his face was still drawn and he drew his breath in sharply more than once against obvious pain.

Napoleon resumed his place behind the wheel, starting the engine and driving out of the hospital gates. He headed back to the village and their hotel, alternating his attention between the roads and Illya. Illya winced and grimaced at every bump in the road, sucking in his breath. He looked tired and grey by the time they reached the first few houses of the little hamlet. 

''Straight to bed for you'' said Napoleon ''you look terrible.''

''The café first. I need to talk to Delia.''

''You're in no fit state to talk to anyone, if it's that important I'll ask her to come to the hotel.''

Illya shook his head ''Café.''

''Don't be an idiot Illya. If you're concerned she wouldn't come to our suite, even with a chaperone, we can meet her downstairs.''

''Café'' insisted Illya. Knowing his partner's stubborn streak and unwilling to risk a Kuryakin escape bid, Napoleon pulled up by the little café.

''Alright Kuryakin, you win, but I'm coming in with you.'' Napoleon skirted round to the passenger side to open the door and offer support as Illya attempted to stand. Napoleon was less than comforted when the Russian made no demur, allowing him to assist and leaning on him heavily as he retrieved his stick from the car.

Illya steadied himself against the vehicle until he was more certain of his balance and then he moved slowly across the paving stones to one of the roadside tables. Napoleon was a step behind him the whole painful way. He could see Illya's hand shake with the effort of the journey as it clasped the rounded curve of the walking stick's handle.

Illya eased himself into one of the chairs and Napoleon sat himself opposite. Delia was nowhere to be seen, but the young waiter who had been so entranced by Illya when they had first arrived was clearing a nearby table.

He abandoned the task and came over to them immediately he recognised Illya. Concern etched on his boyish face. ''Are you quite alright sir?'' he asked.

''Fine, just a little misadventure with a snake'' Illya informed him with a complete lack of fanfare. ''Is Delia on duty today?''

The young man's face registered first his alarm and then his disappointment, but he replied dutifully ''She's having a break sir. I can get her for you if you wish.'' 

''And a pot of coffee for three please'' Illya responded.

''Yes of course sir'' the young man acknowledged and headed into the café.

Delia appeared a little while later with their order. Illya gestured for her to sit and she accepted, never taking her eyes from him while Napoleon poured the coffee.

''Are you alright now?'' she asked.

''Yes, a little uncomfortable, but that will pass'' replied Illya, having no other way to alibi his walking stick.

''I thought you were going to die. Maria will be so glad you are well, she was worried about you'' Delia dropped her eyes and added ''We both were.'' 

''It was most considerate of you both to be so concerned'' Illya responded politely. ''I was wondering if you would accept dinner. I understand the hotel is very good and I would like to see you again.''

Delia looked hesitant but when she spoke she said ''I would like that very much, if you are well enough.''

''Would eight be alright?'' asked Illya, implicitly denying the necessity for her further concern.

''Yes, but you shouldn't drive; Maria's cousin can take me to the hotel. I wouldn't want you driving while you have that stick.''

''I accept your condition'' said Illya ''and I will see you at eight.''

Delia rose from the table, not having touched her coffee, and returned to her duties.

Napoleon sipped his own coffee and studied his partner's grey and drawn complexion for a moment or two before saying ''And we couldn't have arranged that from the hotel? I'm sure the young lady has a telephone.'' 

''I wanted her to see me, not convalescent in a hotel but like this, so she would know I was alright. She may have refused me if she was uncertain'' said Illya.

''And that is so important because...?''

''She will want a healthy husband.''

Napoleon choked on his coffee, spluttering some of it down the front of his jacket and brushing it off with a napkin. ''Illya you hardly know the girl, she's on a visa, what's got into you?''

''Her passport and mine are not dissimilar Napoleon. I may have certain dispensations because of U.N.C.L.E., but I too would need a visa if that were not the case. Would you like to see the paperwork with which your government has deigned to endorse my presence?''

''Illya, I'm so sorry, I meant no disrespect. It's just when her visa runs out she'll have to go back and what happens to this little plan of yours then?''

''If we are married, nothing. U.N.C.L.E.'s dispensation will extend to cover my spouse and we can return to the Soviet Union together. When the time comes.'' 

Napoleon felt something cold grip him. ''You'd go back home? If you couldn't work in the field any more...you'd go back home?''

''Or perhaps before if the agreement by which Mr Waverly has been allowed to recruit me is ended. I have no right to remain once U.N.C.L.E. has finished with me and my government may finish with U.N.C.L.E. before any agreement has run its course. My position has never been secure.''

''Illya I had no idea this worried you so much. You know the Old Man would fight tooth and nail to keep you.''

''Only for so long as I am useful. Injury would change that and I get older every year.''

''The Old Man values more than your brawn Illya. Even if you weren't still in the field, your lab work, your experience, your skills, U.N.C.L.E. would still have use for those. The Old Man's no spring chicken but I don't see anyone asking him to step down. U.N.C.L.E. is more than its field operatives. It's what makes us so effective. The accumulated knowledge and experience.''

''It is true that Mr Waverly has sometimes mooted such a future, but I would still need a wife acceptable to my government. Delia has been trusted enough to obtain a visa, it is unlikely she would present them with any difficulties, and they are more likely to acquiesce to my staying if I am safely married to someone like her. Besides it is time I thought of such things.''

''Just like that? Out of the blue; to someone you hardly know?''

''Half the world is married by arrangement. It is a venerable tradition and I believe a reasonable course for me to take. I have no wish to discuss my reasons further. I have perhaps already said too much.'' 

''You've hardly said anything at all'' Napoleon reproached him. ''Nothing I understand. Nothing that makes sense of anything we've been through. As if we never knew each other at all and I know that's not true. Whatever you're selling Illya, you can't sell me that, I know I know you.'' 

''I like Delia. I have some confidence that she will pass the inevitable vetting. I am at a stage in my life where marriage is expected. Please allow me to arrange my affairs as seems fit to me. I must live this life Napoleon. Allow me that at least. To arrange it as I see fit.'' 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Napoleon took a detour to stop outside the local bakery before driving the rest of the way to the hotel. Maria spied them through the plate glass the minute they pulled up and came bustling out attired in a white cap and pinny, liberally dusted with flour.

Napoleon smiled appreciatively. Maria had the knack of being appealing whatever she wore. ''The wounded soldier is returned'' he announced.

''Oh Illya, I'm so glad to see you!'' she exclaimed, leaning in and hugging Illya exuberantly, much to the Russian's obvious consternation. 

Napoleon grinned at Maria ''All in one piece'' he added.

''Except for this'' observed Maria reaching to touch the walking stick. ''How long will he need this?''

'' _He_ will need it for as long as it is necessary'' Illya interjected, obviously irked at being talked over.

''I'm sorry Illya'' said Maria still beaming ''I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just so happy to see you out of hospital. I don't know what I'm saying.''

''Or what you're doing'' muttered Illya darkly under his breath, brushing smudges of flour from his suit with limited success.

''Illya is very grateful you saved his life'' said Napoleon pointedly.

''I didn't save him Napoleon, the Doctors did that.''

''They wouldn't have had the chance if you hadn't driven the way you did'' said Napoleon sincerely ''I will always be grateful.''

Maria smiled demurely; Illya looked sheepish.

''I haven't thanked you'' said Illya ''and I should have. It was remiss of me and I apologise for not doing so earlier. I have no excuse for such an omission beyond my natural oafishness.'' 

Maria smiled indulgently at Illya and then said to Napoleon ''He's a little warm you know. I think he should be in bed. Enough gallivanting round town for one day.''

Napoleon's smile held a hint of melancholy as he replied ''Our patient has a date tonight with the lovely Delia, wouldn't do for him to stand her up.''

''No'' returned Maria with a gentle understanding ''that would never do. Be happy Napoleon'' then she turned and headed back into the bakery, waving her farewell to them through the window as Napoleon pulled away from the kerb.

Illya sank lower in his seat and leaned his head back.

''You holding up there partner?'' asked Napoleon.

''I was beginning to think I had disappeared like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.''

''I'm sorry Illya'' said Napoleon ''it's an easy habit to fall into. How about we get you back to the hotel and then you can get some rest?''

''Much as I hate to admit it Napoleon, that sounds like a good idea.''

Napoleon's disquiet regarding Illya's condition returned ''Maybe you should cancel tonight, Delia would understand.''

''And have her think I'm an invalid? No. I will rest and then I shall change and meet her for dinner. It is quite disadvantage enough that I am forced to use this ridiculous stick.''

''Illya what's the urgency? Why this girl?''

''I have told you my reasons. Please do me the courtesy of accepting them.''

''That might be a little bit easier if you weren't trying so hard to put yourself straight back in hospital'' muttered Napoleon irritably.

If Illya heard he didn't respond, shutting his eyes and sinking further into his seat. His face an exhausted pallor. The breeze lifting his hair and tugging at his tie. 

Napoleon pulled up at the front of the hotel and turned off the engine. Illya didn't stir. Napoleon sat watching him for long minutes, reluctant to disturb him, hoping he would rouse of his own accord.

Finally Napoleon reached out and placed a hand on Illya's shoulder. ''Illya, we're here.''

Illya slowly opened his eyes and it seemed to take a few seconds for him to register his surroundings. Then he struggled to raise himself in his seat and reach for his stick. Napoleon left the car to open the passenger door and help him out. Illya held on to him determinedly as he found his feet. Then he leaned heavily on his stick.

''Park the car Napoleon. I will pick up the room key.'' 

Napoleon hesitated, unwilling to leave Illya's side but equally unwilling to offend the Russian's fierce sense of independence. ''Illya...''

''I am capable of picking up a room key Napoleon'' snapped Illya pre-emptively. 

Napoleon conceded defeat and returned to the car, pulling away from the kerb to park in the small hotel car park. His attention focussed on the rear view mirror and Illya. 

Having found a suitable spot, Napoleon entered the little hotel from the discrete car park entrance and headed for the modest suite he and Illya were currently occupying. 

The room door was already open but Illya was nowhere to be seen. Napoleon moved through the small living area to the bedroom. Illya was sprawled diagonally on his back across one of the beds, the walking stick hanging from his hand, his head turned to the pillow. Napoleon crossed the room and lifted the walking stick from Illya's hand, placing it within reach against the bedside table. Then he pulled the bedspread from the other bed and draped it over the exhausted wreckage of his supine partner. As he left he paused at the bedroom door for a moment or two to contemplate the stubborn enigma that had come to be the centre of his small corner of the universe, before turning off the light and wishing the slumbering Russian sweet dreams.

Napoleon returned to the living room and helped himself to a bourbon from the drinks cabinet. He seated himself on the couch, turning the glass round and round in his hands as his thoughts turned over and over in his head. Finally he leaned across to the telephone and booked a table for two in the hotel restaurant in his partner's name. Then he stretched himself out and closed his eyes. 

Illya woke a little after six in the evening. Making his way with difficulty into the main room and heading towards the drinks. 

Napoleon had moved to the armchair and was reading something he'd picked up from the limited range available in the hotel gift shop. He was working his way through another bourbon, although he couldn't say which one, he'd lost count after the third, but he did know he was pleasantly mellow. He'd had lunch courtesy of room service and was starting to contemplate dinner.

''Did you book a table?'' asked Illya with his back still to him.

''Of course'' replied Napoleon.

Illya poured a vodka and turned to face him, made uncharacteristically graceless by virtue of the walking stick. ''Thank you.'' 

''You're welcome'' returned Napoleon with a wave of his glass. 

''Will you see Maria tonight?''

''And miss an evening in with a good book and an old friend?'' said Napoleon indicating the bourbon. 

''Napoleon I know you don't understand this, but I would wish that you would accept it.''

''Oh I accept everything'' said Napoleon airily. ''You want to have a dinner date when you can barely remain conscious? I accept it. You wish to get married to someone you hardly know? I accept it. You nearly die in my arms because of a stupid picnic? I accept it. You see how much I accept partner? You see how very much I'm willing to accept?''

''Napoleon, please, if you can't understand it, please just...'' Illya faltered, finishing the sentence with a despairing gesture of his drink.

''You'd better get dressed Illya, you don't want to keep the young lady waiting.''

Illya downed the vodka in one. ''My life is not my own Napoleon. I don't expect you to understand that, but I had hoped for...Oh what does it matter what I had hoped for. This is not a mission, there is no obligation upon you.''

Illya set the glass down on the cabinet and made his way towards the bedroom and, through it, to the bathroom. A short while later Napoleon heard the sound of the shower.


	6. Chapter 6

Napoleon had elected to retire before eleven. Illya was still absent. Napoleon had taken the last of the bourbon to bed with him and had fallen asleep almost immediately upon finishing it.

He awoke hung over and alone. Illya had not returned to the room. Napoleon hauled his earthly remains to the bathroom and tried to drown the hangover in a hot shower. His pounding head was a little relieved by the application of hot water and further assuaged by hot coffee and aspirin. Room service having come up trumps again. He was lying on the couch with an ice pack on his head, a further boon from the ever resourceful room service, when Illya finally made it back to their suite.

Napoleon lifted an eyelid ''The evening went well then?'' 

''I proposed'' said Illya.

''And the lady of your choice accepted your proposition?''

Illya raised an eyebrow but otherwise ignored the barb. ''She telephoned her parents. I spoke to them. It is agreed'' he said, sinking awkwardly into the armchair.

''Just like that? To a man they've never met?''

''I have certain qualifications which made me eligible.''

''Stick notwithstanding?''

''Stick notwithstanding.''

Napoleon raised himself gingerly to a sitting position. Clasping the icepack to his head. ''Well don't expect me to dance at the wedding.''

Illya held his gaze steadily ''I don't expect it Napoleon, but I had thought... I had hoped...You are my partner'' he looked away and struggled to his feet again ''Perhaps you are right. I had hoped for too much. I need a shower and some sleep.''

''Understandable; it's a hell of a time to come crawling back for a man who can barely stand. This eligibility of yours must be really something.''

Illya paused with his back to him and without turning said ''Perhaps I have stayed too long at the fair'' before continuing towards the bathroom. 

Napoleon sat cradling his sore head in his hands, ice pack clamped in place, while the muffled sounds of Illya's shower filled the small suite of rooms. After a while the cascade of water ended and he heard Illya moving about before he emerged into the bedroom. Napoleon heard him settle himself into bed and the room became quiet once again. 

Napoleon lay back on the couch and contemplated a hair of the dog. Eventually he decided against it, opting to give his liver a break and rouse himself to walk through the bedroom and placate his pounding head with another hot shower. The sleeping Russian didn't stir at his passing. 

Illya was still sound asleep when he had finished his shower and re-entered the bedroom, towel wrapped round him. He stood at the side of his bed regarding the mop of blonde hair across the expanse of his bedspread and the no mans land occupied by the small stand upon which the bedroom telephone sat. Illya looked beautiful. Illya always did in sleep. 

Napoleon picked up his clothes and dressed in the living room, returning to the bathroom only to brush his hair, check his tie and return the towel. He tugged at the handkerchief in his breast pocket. He looked beautiful himself. He knew it and he used it. Perhaps it was time to use it again. Not Maria; someone warm and willing without her heart. Someone he couldn't hurt.

He paused once again leaving the bathroom and for a savage moment considered Delia. Delia didn't have Maria's heart or her courage; she didn't even have Illya's heart. Just what of the Russian she had ensnared was beyond his comprehension. Why, of all the women Illya had met, this one?

Illya had fallen under some spell. He was clearly attracted to the woman. But Illya had been attracted to women before. It was a cross Napoleon bore. Knowing his sober partner, though rarely tempted, was quite capable of kicking over the traces and behaving like any other red blooded Cossack. Illya's usual oblivion in the face of Cupid's capricious slings and arrows was not an unbreachable carapace.

Perhaps not a woman at all then, thought Napoleon. Perhaps he needed something else. Something that didn't call to mind Maria's generous soul or Delia's elusive beguilement.

Napoleon's thoughts fixed themselves on the café and the boyish young waiter. There was a certain pleasing symmetry in seeking solace in the arms of another of Illya's unrecognised and unrequited suitors. 

Napoleon allowed himself a further moment to take in the sight of his sleeping partner, patted his jacket to be sure his wallet was where it was supposed to be, and left the softly breathing Russian to whatever dreams might come. 

He walked to the café, needing the air and the exercise. Feeling his abused body rallying as the blood pumped. He nodded hello to the women out shopping and the old men sitting and smoking their pipes. He revelled in the balmy warmth of the morning sun and the brightly coloured blooms in the ubiquitous window boxes. It really was a picture postcard village. He half expected the Pied Piper or Hansel and Gretel to put in an appearance. He reached the café just as the first of the lunch time trade was seating itself. Mostly tourists laden with cameras and souvenirs. A Babel of foreign tongues as they decided their choice of repast. 

Napoleon took a seat outside the little café and waited. A few minutes later the young waiter arrived with a notepad and politely welcoming smile. ''What would you like sir?''

Napoleon leaned back and looked up ''Depends what's on the menu.'' 

''We have a number of dishes sir, plus the plat du jour. Would you like me to recommend something?''

''I think I might like that'' said Napoleon ''what did you have in mind?''

The unmistakable invitation in Napoleon's eyes had the young waiter fidgeting with his collar. ''I'm not sure I understand sir.''

''Oh I think you do'' said Napoleon ''if the way you were looking at my partner is anything to go by.''

''I-I'm not sure.''

''Well let's just say I'll have a cup of coffee and if you can think of anything else I might like perhaps we could discuss it somewhere a little less conspicuous?''

The young waiter scuttled away and Napoleon was not surprised when a young woman he hadn't seen before delivered his coffee. He ordered the plat du jour and wiled away an hour or so sipping coffee and eating lunch at a leisurely pace.

Eventually the midday sea of patrons dispersed and the young waitress reappeared to clear Napoleon's table and deliver the bill. Napoleon left sufficient to cover his meal and a respectable tip.

He pushed his chair back and rose from the table. The young waiter was standing a few yards away in front of a shop window, having rid himself of his apron and notepad and having acquired a jacket. Napoleon sauntered over to him.

''I live upstairs'' the young man said and disappeared into a narrow doorway between the shop and its neighbour. It opened immediately onto a precipitously steep staircase. Napoleon closed the door behind him and followed the young waiter up the stairs. At the top of the stairs two impassively plain doors faced each other. The waiter fished a key from his jacket and unlocked one of the doors to admit Napoleon and himself to a tiny flat, barely more than a bedsit. 

Napoleon pushed the door shut behind him by the simple expedient of leaning against it, arms folded, ankles crossed. 

''It's not much'' said the waiter looking about him and taking in the understated elegance of Napoleon's attire.

''I didn't come for the scenery'' said Napoleon stepping forward and cupping the young man's face in his hands. 

''I'm not sure'' said the waiter nervously.

''Yes you are'' said Napoleon, leaning in and kissing him.

''I don't do this'' the waiter whispered.

''Yes you do'' reassured Napoleon, pushing the jacket from the young man's shoulders.

''P-please don't tell anyone'' begged the waiter.

''Not a soul'' promised Napoleon guiding them both gently to the bed.


	7. Chapter 7

Napoleon woke a few hours later, the young waiter cradled in his arms. He kissed the sleeping face under his chin and asked the befuddled eyes that opened to meet his ''What's your name?''

''Paulo'' replied the waiter.

''Nice to meet you Paulo'' responded Napoleon ''I'm afraid I have to go now. Will you be alright?''

Paulo nodded ''Will I see you again?''

''No, not like this.''

Paulo brought a hand up and circled one of Napoleon's nipples with a languid finger ''We could again, before you leave, if you wanted.''

Napoleon rocked his head sorrowfully against the pillow ''I have to go. You stay here. I'll let myself out'' then he roused himself from the bed and began dressing. Paulo turned himself to lie on his stomach and watch.

Napoleon let his appreciative gaze roam the naked body in front of him as he put on his clothes, using Paulo's tiny foxed mirror to brush his hair and adjust his tie. 

Then he leaned down and kissed Paulo one more time before letting himself out of the tiny apartment and returning to the real world where Illya was probably still sleeping. 

Lunch and the waiter had seen off the last vestiges of Napoleon's hangover and there was a spring in his step as he walked briskly back to the hotel. He shunned the main entrance in favour of the unassuming car park access and made his way back to the suite. 

Illya had obviously woken at some point after he'd left. He'd put on fresh clothes and was laid out on the couch with his hand wrapped round a vodka balanced on his abdomen. His eyes were closed and his breathing gentle but Napoleon knew his partner too well to believe the masquerade of somnolence.

''Have you heard from New York?''

''We have another few days'' said Illya immobile as a waxwork.

''Wedding leave?''

''Sick leave.''

''You haven't told them? That might prove a tad awkward when you turn up with the new Mrs Kuryakin.''

'' _If_ I turn up with the new Mrs Kuryakin.''

''Trouble in paradise?''

''Trouble at home.''

''New York?''

''Archangel.''

Napoleon's blood ran cold. ''You're going back?''

''Possibly.''

''You'll return?''

''Possibly.''

''And the wedding?''

''Ah yes. The wedding. Who knows?''

''Illya, I don't know what to say.''

''Perhaps you should consider 'goodbye'. I have been.''

Napoleon took the vodka from Illya's fingers and downed it in one. ''Waverly will want to keep you.''

''Maybe. I'm not so sure.'' Illya opened his eyes and struggled to sit up. ''I can't walk across the room.''

''It's not the first time you've been injured.''

''No, but it's the first time the Doctor has rung me and told me I may not recover. I understand you gave him the number. For which I thank you.''

''What? The bite wasn't supposed to be that serious. They let you go.''

''Apparently there's some abnormality in my blood work.''

''What kind of abnormality?''

''The kind that makes your Doctor ring you and ask you to come back for a second test.''

''When?''

Illya reached for Napoleon's wrist and turned it to where he could see the dial on his watch. ''In one hour and forty two minutes.'' 

''Your blood stream was full of poison and anti-venom. That's got to be abnormal.'' 

''That's why they want the re-test. Inconclusive is not a word beloved of medicine.'' 

''So this could all be nothing?''

''This could all be nothing'' agreed Illya and Napoleon suddenly realised that the vodka he had downed may not have been the Russian's first.

''Illya, how much have you had to drink?''

''Not nearly enough, but that is an oversight I intend to rectify'' Illya tried to push himself to his feet, but he couldn't support his weight and he fell awkwardly, landing heavily on the floor, winded and in pain. 

Napoleon moved to haul him back onto the couch but Illya hit out hard ''No. No. I will do this for myself.'' He clawed at the couch for his stick, which was hanging over the arm by its handle, just out of Illya's reach. Napoleon watched as Illya tried desperately to grasp his prize, the cost of the effort further exhausting him with each attempt. He was perspiring and short of breath. His obvious pain leaching the colour from his face until Napoleon could watch no more.

''Enough. Illya. Enough. Let me.'' Illya was too weak now to stop him and Napoleon pulled the Russian to his feet and handed him his cane. Illya gripped the cane like a vice, unable to move and trembling with the effects of exertion. ''What the hell was all that about?'' demanded Napoleon angrily.

''I can't...''

''What?'' asked Napoleon much more gently ''What can't you do Illya?'' 

''Just get me to the damn hospital'' Illya snapped.

Napoleon hesitated, hoping there might be more, but when the Russian said nothing further Napoleon said ''Alright. Give me a few minutes to grab a shower.'' He didn't wait for Illya's permission to help him to the couch. The Russian had forfeited his right to such considerations.

When Napoleon returned, showered, fragranced and sporting a new shirt, Illya was sitting on the couch drinking vodka. A part of Napoleon was relieved that the Russian had managed to rally enough to fetch himself a drink, but most of him was just plain furious. 

''How is that going to help anything?''

''I hadn't given it much consideration'' Illya replied truthfully, if not diplomatically.

Napoleon took the glass from Illya's hand and then, suspicion dawning, asked ''How many of these have you had?''

''I started with a full bottle; now I have an empty bottle. That many.''

Napoleon shook his head impatiently ''While I was in the shower. How many did you have while I was in the shower?''

''Three, maybe four. I don't count.'' 

''But a bottle since this morning?''

Illya nodded looking perplexed; the Russian really didn't count and didn't really understand anybody who did.

''Right. Well. We'll just have to tell the Doctor that and if you end up in hospital for another night you've no one to blame but yourself. Where's your jacket?''

Illya cast about the room and looked lost.

''Still in the bedroom?'' suggested Napoleon. Illya shrugged and Napoleon went to check, reappearing triumphantly with the errant article and holding it out as he would for any date.

Illya struggled to his feet and, juggling his stick from hand to hand, slipped his arms into the jacket. 

Napoleon got Illya from the room to the car without further mishap. Illya still looked pale from exertion, pain and also probably from too much vodka. Although, Napoleon had often observed wryly, the Russian's usually rigorous scientific precision had never really admitted the concept of too much vodka.

Illya said nothing on the drive to the hospital and showed no signs of becoming more voluble once they got there.

Napoleon ushered his taciturn charge into his appointment.

''Hello Doctor'' said Napoleon in greeting ''I'm afraid we have a confession.''

''You wouldn't be the first patient to tell me that'' responded the Doctor cheerfully, assessing Illya's complexion.

''We appear to have drunk a bottle of vodka this morning. Will it affect the test?''

''Yes'' said the Doctor ''but if we're aware of it we can discount it. It shouldn't affect the result.'' Then the Doctor sobered and turned to speak to Illya directly ''Is this normal for you? This level of alcohol consumption?''

Illya gave the Doctor a foul look.

''He doesn't normally drink this much Doctor'' Napoleon answered quickly before Illya could create an international incident. ''Can I have a word?''

The Doctor eyed Illya shrewdly and then acquiesced to Napoleon's request, stepping out of the tiny consulting room. ''You have something to tell me?'' 

''Look Doctor I know every drunk in the book says he doesn't drink that much, but don't get sidetracked, Illya really doesn't. Whatever the problem is, it isn't that. Don't get lost in a shoal of red herrings.''

''But there is a problem?'' 

''Yes. I think there is a problem. It would help if this blood test is clear. He'll lose his job if he can't pass the medical. And that might lead to other...complications...The man's on a Soviet passport.''

''I can't falsify the test Mr Solo. It would be extremely unethical, not to mention highly detrimental to my patient.''

''I'm not asking you to falsify it; I'm asking if you could expedite it. He's a tough little cookie. He'll fight whatever he has to fight. But he needs to see the whites of his enemy's eyes. Tell him what he's fighting. It's the waiting that...well the vodka's what he does when he's waiting.'' 

''I see'' said the Doctor ''The test requires a certain amount of time but I can ensure there are no unnecessary administrative delays.''

''When could we expect the result?''

''Well we normally mail negative results and ask the patient to come in and discuss the positive, but I could telephone in either event. In which case you should know within forty-eight hours, if you think it would help.''

''It would help. Thank you Doctor.''


	8. Chapter 8

Illya was no more talkative on the way back. No more talkative; but much more pale. He looked clammy. Napoleon checked him constantly from the periphery of his vision. Suddenly Illya slipped further down in his seat and clutched his stomach. 

Napoleon pulled in immediately to give his full attention to his partner, ready to spin the car round and race back to the hospital.

Illya pushed the car door open, fell out onto the dusty verge on all fours and was promptly and violently sick.

Napoleon was out of the car immediately. He dropped to his knees and pulled Illya back to lean against him. Illya was hot; hotter than could be accounted for by the glory of the early evening sunshine. ''I'm taking you back.''

Illya struggled away from him ''I don't need to go back. I just need to go to bed.''

That admission in itself was enough to alarm Napoleon. ''Illya you're ill. We're miles from the nearest U.N.C.L.E. facility. I'm worried.''

''No need my friend. Venom, anti-venom and vodka do not a cocktail make'' said Illya with more bonhomie than Napoleon had heard from him since the picnic.

His fears somewhat allayed by Illya's return to form, Napoleon reluctantly acceded to the Russian's wishes and helped him back into the car. Illya leaned limply back against his seat, his head tilted back, looking up into the brilliant azure sky. He fished around in his pockets and came up with a pair of sunglasses which he put on and then let his hands fall back into his lap.

Napoleon resumed his place behind the wheel. Illya didn't stir. Head propped by the seat, staring heavenward. Napoleon restarted the car and pulled back onto the road. The wind ruffled and teased at Illya's hair but beyond that the Russian remained motionless for the rest of the journey. 

Napoleon pulled directly into the car park upon their return and cut the engine before turning to Illya. At some point on the way back the Russian had fallen asleep. 

''Slumber's end'' said Napoleon, giving his sleeping partner a shake. 

Illya slowly raised his head, removed his glasses and squinted blindly in the slowly waning sunlight. He folded the glasses back into his pocket, pushed open the car door and struggled to co-ordinate his stick and his legs so that he could stand. Napoleon was on his side of the car now, offering an arm in support.

''Did we hand the key in when we left?'' asked Napoleon.

Illya leant back against the car to steady himself so he could retrieve the key from his trouser pocket. He dangled it in front of Napoleon and Napoleon grabbed it from the air.

''Let's get you to bed then'' said Napoleon and offered Illya his arm as if he were a dinner partner.

Illya took the offered support without a word. Napoleon's anxiety flared again. The Russian was moving like an elderly invalid.

They made slow progress and Illya had to stop several times before he could move on. Napoleon suspected that his partner was in much more pain than he was admitting and that this had been the real cause of his sickness.

He eventually got Illya as far as the couch. Illya laid his head on a cushion, stretched himself out and was gone. Napoleon took off his shoes, loosened his tie and belt and took the bedspread from his bed to cover him. 

He ran his hand fondly through the Russian's windswept locks before heading to pour himself a drink and finish reading the book he'd acquired from the gift shop the last time the Russian had passed out like this. 

Illya bore no resemblance to the young waiter with whom Napoleon had wiled away the noonday hours, but something of the Russian's repose called to mind waking with Paulo in his arms. He pictured waking with Illya as Paulo had been, befuddled with sleep and warm with spent passion. Would Illya have watched him dress with just such innocent joy?

He took his drink and seated himself in the armchair. Sipping periodically as he read and contemplated.

It was well beyond dusk when Illya finally stirred. He sat up slowly but seemed easier in his movements. He blinked owlishly, then struggled to his stockinged feet. Napoleon was heartened by the fact that he was standing without the aid of his stick. Walking would be a different matter though and Napoleon chivalrously stood to retrieve his sleepy partner's cane and place it in his hands. 

Illya nodded his acknowledgement and turned and shuffled his way into the bedroom. Napoleon heard the water run in the bathroom and waited for Illya to put himself to bed before taking the bedspread back into the bedroom. He draped it over the room's single chair. Illya was asleep again but the exhausted pallor had left his face. Napoleon touched the back of his hand to Illya's cheek. Illya's skin was cool to the touch, another hopeful improvement.

Something in the feel of Illya's skin reminded Napoleon of Maria's creamy smooth complexion, though he had to admit, she'd had no hint of stubble. The thought amused him. His partner amused him. 

His partner who, just days from now, he may or may not lose to marriage or repatriation or both. 

And then there was the blood test. Illya alive and well and permanently absent was cross enough to bear. But Illya seriously ill, lost to more than U.N.C.L.E., more than himself. Lost to life altogether. He'd faced it. Illya was a magnet for the lethal. But this seemed more real somehow, more terrifying. Illya declining and fading to a mere shadow of his vibrant presence. It was hard enough watching him with that stick. Watching him ill and exhausted, but the prognosis promised a full restoration. What if that was now a lie and Illya didn't get better? What if the stick became a wheelchair? Until Illya was too weak even for that? 

Napoleon retired to bed with that vision in his head. It was not conducive to peaceful dreams. He woke from nightmares in the early hours of the morning, shouting for Illya. And Illya was there. Illya was holding him, trying to calm him. His disarrayed mind clung to Illya's anchoring presence and slowly he brought his breathing under control and with it the paranoid panic. He ran a shaky hand through his dream dampened hair and tried a feeble smile.

Illya smiled gently back and said ''I'll get you a drink. Steady your nerves.'' Then he eased himself off the bed and shuffled out with his stick into the main room. Napoleon heard the clink of glassware and then Illya shuffling back. He appeared in the doorway with a small scotch. ''You drank the bourbon and we haven't replaced it'' he said.

''Scotch'll do partner'' replied Napoleon, his breathing not yet quite even ''Scotch'll do.''

Napoleon sat up in the bed, propping himself against pillows and the headboard. Illya came forward and handed him the glass, sitting on the bed to watch him sip it. 

''You were calling my name'' Illya remarked.

''Yes. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.''

''We're lucky you didn't wake the whole hotel. I half expected a visit from the management.'' 

Napoleon's faculties were beginning to ravel themselves back together. Despite his disrupted sleep Illya was looking much more as he should.

''You seem to be moving better, finally getting the hang of that stick?''

''I sincerely hope it is not so permanent a fixture that I will ever become proficient with it.''

''Amen to that partner'' said Napoleon fervently.

Cocooned in this literally twilight world all other concerns seemed remote and distant. No Delia, no Archangel, no blood tests. Illya so much more himself. It was a warm and comforting world which made sense of all the madness that surrounded it. 

And it brought Napoleon to the realisation that he had a few decisions to make. 


	9. Chapter 9

Illya was missing when Napoleon woke up. Just that fact alone was enough to make Napoleon suspect his partner had absconded to be with his fiancée.

Napoleon suddenly realised that Illya probably hadn't had a ring when he had proposed. Is that where the Russian was now? In a jewellers somewhere sealing the deal with a diamond?

Napoleon's stomach somersaulted at the thought. He needed time to think. Unwittingly, Illya's incapacity had given him that time. The Old Man always assumed if one of them needed a nursemaid the other would fill the post. Unless THRUSH so tweaked the Old Man's beard that Napoleon was recalled, Napoleon had some time to think.

Napoleon thought about calling Illya. 

Neither of them had been wearing their guns. Unspoken mutual agreement that the allure of weaponry was likely to fall on stony ground as far as Delia and the other village girls were concerned. No self respecting family would let their young women near a man carrying an off duty weapon. 

But Illya would be carrying his communicator. He'd be more likely to be without his stick than his communicator. 

Napoleon was still considering calling Illya after he had showered, shaved, dressed and left their room in search of breakfast. He continued to consider it as he finished his third cup of coffee, replete with croissants. 

Napoleon ran the imagined conversation through again in his head, but whatever combination of words or excuses he came up with for contacting Illya, he still sounded like a possessive fool. 

The natural thing, the thing he would have done before he had discovered the true nature of his affection for his missing partner, would be to get on with his day and wait for Illya to turn up. 

They were as safe here as they could have been anywhere. No need for regular check-ins. If some sweet, grey haired, little old lady, turned out to be THRUSH operative of the year Illya was not so incapacitated that he couldn't raise the alarm. 

And Illya had been less waspish since the hospital yesterday. To antagonise him unnecessarily might put things right back where they had been since he'd met Delia. At least married Illya could still be his partner. If he was shipped off to Archangel even Illya wasn't sure he'd be coming back. Napoleon had no wish to give him a reason for not wanting to. 

Napoleon finished his coffee and rose from the table. He'd go into the village and be a tourist for the day. He was more or less still on holiday. His only current duty was caring for his errant charge and Illya in his present state seemed more than capable of looking after himself. Napoleon paused for a moment. Technically, however nominally, he _was_ on duty and the missing weight of his gun called a siren song to his field honed instincts.

He thought a while longer. He wouldn't see Maria again, he knew that. It would be no good for either of them. She'd seen what he was and liked and respected him anyway, but he shouldn't see her again. At least not as he had. And he had no wish to dally with the other damsels of the village. He had something else to occupy his attentions now. Something too important to allow the trivial distractions of pursuit to steal him away.

He returned to their suite and opened the room safe in which they'd locked the guns. He smiled when he saw the contents. Illya was apparently on duty too, sick leave notwithstanding. His holster and gun already gone. Napoleon slipped on his own and left the hotel via the main entrance in order to leave the room key with the reception desk. 

He wiled away happy hours strolling round the village and then, since Illya hadn't taken the car, he took a drive along the country lanes, stopping every now and then to take in the scenery and think.

It was early evening by the time he pulled back into the car park. The desk clerk informed him that Mr Kuryakin had already picked up the room key and he made his way to their suite with two bottles of vodka and a bottle of bourbon he had picked up on his travels.

Illya was in shirt sleeves, his gun and jacket abandoned on the armchair.

''How was your day?'' Napoleon enquired as he deposited his purchases on the little cabinet where they had their drinks before heading to drop the brown paper carrier in the waste basket. 

''Delia wanted a ring'' replied Illya happily and Napoleon's stomach chilled and tightened. It was all too real. ''Maria's cousin drove us into the nearest town, we chose something traditional.''

Illya looked relaxed. Unguarded and boyishly innocent. As if a great weight had been lifted and he was free of all cares. 

It broke Napoleon's heart. The tormented organ torn in opposing directions by his genuine pleasure at seeing Illya so happy and by the devastation of losing him.

Napoleon realised that all the time for thinking had run out.

''I could do with a drink'' he said.

''Bourbon?'' enquired Illya.

Napoleon nodded pensively, numb with the shock of Illya's announcement and of what he was about to do because of it. 

Illya had his back to him, pouring the drinks. ''What do you want to do this evening Napoleon? I was thinking a small celebration might be in order. Toast the bride so to speak.''

Napoleon recrossed the room to stand behind him, accepting the glass from his hand as he turned. Illya's eyes were wide and brightly blue, shadowed with a little curiosity at Napoleon's unnecessary proximity, but not wary. Not yet. 

''Could we order in room service?''

''Of course we could Napoleon, are you feeling unwell?''

''No I'm not feeling unwell, but I have reached a decision. About us.''

''About us?'' Illya was mildly perplexed, but still happy, still trusting and unwary.

''Yes'' Napoleon leaned past Illya to place his glass on the cabinet behind the Russian. He straightened and took Illya's glass from him to place it next to his own.

''Napoleon, are you sure you are feeling alright?'' asked Illya, his gaze following Napoleon's movements, coming to rest on their glasses nestled side by side.

''Alright? Yes, as I said, I've reached a decision. I don't want to risk waiting any more.'' 

''Waiting for what?''

''For someone else to do this'' Napoleon leaned in and kissed Illya's lips with gentle tenderness. Illya froze.

''N-Napoleon. I think you may have had a little too much to drink.''

''No, hardly a drop. Don't write this off to alcohol Illya. I know exactly what I'm doing. You realise that this is just the appetiser. I have a full banquet planned.''

''Napoleon...This is...You will regret this. When you have sobered up. In the morning. In the meantime I shall absent myself until you have recovered.'' 

''I told you, I'm not drunk and you're not going anywhere, except to bed. I have waited and I have been patient and now I intend to be patient no longer.''

''Napoleon, you are clearly unwell. I shall therefore leave before something happens we will both regret.'' Illya's displeasure was clear, it was sharp in his voice, brittle in his eyes.

''The only thing I shall regret is not doing this. Not telling you.'' Napoleon placed a hand on the walking stick Illya still had no choice but to use. ''You could have been killed.''

''It is not the first time that has happened. You have never been so...effusive...in your concern before.'' 

''I have never let you see it before, but you have never been serious about anyone the way you are about that waitress before.''

''I will not be an agent forever Napoleon and she is Romanian. She understands that which it is necessary to understand. If, as both you and Mr Waverly have suggested, I continue with U.N.C.L.E. and make my home in the west such understanding would be necessary. I need someone like her.''

''Or me.''

''Napoleon you could never understand as she understands. You have not left family behind.''

''I understand you better than you think. I understand this'' Napoleon's hands were like a vice on Illya's biceps and he pulled the startled Russian in, this time kissing him hard. Angrily and invasively. ''This is what you are. This is what we both are.''

Illya tore himself away and there were tears bright and unshed in his eyes. Betrayal burned behind them. ''I am not this Napoleon. I want to get married, to have children, to have a family. To have all the expected things. I am not this. I don't want to be this.''

''Who are you kidding Illya? What woman would have you? Once she knew? Is that the reason for your interest in the little waitress? You think she'll overlook what you are for the chance of a life in the west? Are you that willing to delude yourself?'' 

''Why are you doing this Napoleon? Why now? What's changed?'' pleaded Illya.

Napoleon couldn't help either of them, it was too late for that now.


	10. Chapter 10

Illya's distress barely touched Napoleon. He was a runaway train. Unable to stop himself.

''You need to understand. I nearly lost you and not for some greater good. Not to stop THRUSH, not save the world, not even in the line of duty, but to some stupid snake, a stupid meaningless misadventure with a snake. I'm not losing you that way. I'm not losing you at all. You're mine, you always have been, only now you need to understand it. I want you to understand that you're mine. I want you to understand you belong to me. You're not leaving. It's too late for that. It's too late for anything except you and me and this.'' Napoleon grabbed Illya again, pushing him back against the drinks cabinet. Rocking the glasses and bottles on it with the force of it. Forcing Illya into another kiss and pulling at his tie to loosen it. 

Illya didn't reciprocate, Illya fought back and not in kind. He pushed Napoleon away and this time there were no tears in his eyes. This time there was something else.

''We have been friends for a long time Napoleon'' he said ''partners for longer. I do not overlook this but for the sake of that friendship I am willing to close the door on it and never speak of it again. I shall ask for reassignment. I will endeavour not to reveal the reason for my request, but if it is the only way to achieve my release, then make no mistake, I will.''

''Waverly won't reassign you. Tell him what you like. The team works; that's the only thing that will count. He'll expect us to keep it working. That's the way it is. What we want doesn't matter. What we do is too important. U.N.C.L.E. is too important. You're no fool Illya, you know how the world works, you've seen enough of it.''

''You've no right to use me.''

''Then meet me half way'' Napoleon stepped forward, pulling Illya's tie from his neck and beginning to unbutton his shirt. He moved closer, body to body, kissing Illya again. Illya didn't respond, muscles rigid beneath Napoleon's touch, but Napoleon persisted, sure he was right. Sure Illya would give in and admit his need, both to himself and Napoleon, once Napoleon had left him nowhere to hide.

Illya was trembling now and not in the way Napoleon had hoped. There was an icy cold fury burning in the blue eyes and Napoleon finally stepped back. Illya's fist was lightning fast and just as explosive, sending Napoleon sprawling.

Napoleon looked up from the floor and drew a hand across his face. He knew there was blood, he could taste it. It mingled with the taste of Illya against his tongue. Illya had tasted good.

The Russian's eyes were still blazing and he was shaking with barely restrained rage.

''You think you can do this to me because I'm trapped? Can't protest? Can't do anything about it?'' Illya's voice was dark with a primeval anger.

Napoleon smiled sardonically ''You can't Illya. There is nothing you can do. I want you. It might help if you believed that.''

''And how many times have you said that? To how many people? You think you understand me? Well maybe I understand you too. You're bored and this is a game you've not played before. Higher stakes. I've told you I don't want this. That should be enough.''

''It would be, if I believed it. You're no coward Illya. What's different about this?''

''I don't want this. I want something else. And I don't have to justify that. I don't have to explain myself. I won't be used. Not by you and not by anybody else. Not...'' Illya faltered abruptly, biting off the sentence and turning away, awkwardly tangling with his stick. Trying to tidy his dishevelled shirt.

''Not...again?'' guessed Napoleon ''Is that it Illya? Not again? Illya?''

Illya didn't turn back. He helped himself to a large vodka and threw it back in one go before abandoning any pretence at civility and grabbing the bottle to move hesitantly towards the only other room. The bedroom. Napoleon watched him hesitate and it sliced through him like a knife. For the first time he was uncertain. What if he was wrong? What had he destroyed if he was wrong? But he wasn't wrong. He knew Illya and Illya had convinced him that he was afraid but not that Napoleon had been wrong.

Illya changed his mind and made to pick up his jacket from the armchair on which he had abandoned it, obviously still intent on leaving. Napoleon took advantage of Illya's limited mobility, deftly beating him to it. Holding the jacket hostage. Illya paused, pain filled eyes begging the boon his pride would never allow him to ask, twisting the knife in Napoleon's gut. But if he let Illya go now nothing would ever be right again.

''Not again Illya? Is that it?'' Napoleon asked once more. It was a forlorn hope that the Russian would open up, but there was nothing left to lose now.

Defeat filled Illya's eyes and that alone should have alerted Napoleon. Illya moved towards the door without his jacket. Napoleon dropped the jacket and moved to block his exit. Illya came to a halt and brought the vodka bottle to his lips to take a long pull on it. ''Okay you win Napoleon'' was all he said before dropping his stick and sinking to the floor. ''I'm not going anywhere. At least nowhere vodka can't take me'' and he took another deep swig ''I should have known it would end like this. I had foolishly hoped, but then all hopes are foolish aren't they?'' He brought the bottle up again and took another long swallow. Napoleon belatedly realised that Illya's instinct for survival had found the Russian an exit. 

Napoleon hesitated. Illya was a good little actor if he needed to be, but how much of this current performance was an act was anybody's guess. ''Illya?''

Illya smiled and took another drink and then produced a gun. Napoleon's skin turned to ice. Illya's holster was slung on the armchair where his jacket had been, gun still holstered. Napoleon reached into his jacket for his own holster and realised it was empty. The Russian must have lifted it. ''Illya?'' he repeatedly warily. 

''So you don't want to lose me to a stupid misadventure? Sorry a stupid _meaningless_ misadventure? How about a deliberate misadventure? A manufactured stupidity? How about losing me to that?''

''Illya...'' Napoleon was still wary. The Russian really could be this good if he needed to be.

''I don't want what you want Napoleon. I'm sorry, but I don't. And I'm tired. So tired. I thought with you it would be different, but it's not is it? It's just the same. _I'm_ just the same and I'm tired of being just the same. I don't want to be just another one, just another warm body'' Illya took another tug at the vodka and coughed ''I've had enough. I've had more than enough. Here, at home, wherever, whenever, I've had enough. I want to be loved. I don't expect that from you Napoleon. I know your rules, but I want to be loved. Or I want to be alone. I thought you would allow me that, to be alone, not like...'' Illya's mournful half-soliloquy failed on a melancholy smile, the familiar blue eyes an aching desolation. ''All hopes are foolish hopes.'' 

Not acting. Not acting at all. ''Illya, give me the gun.''

''Why?''

''I don't think you need it just now.''

''Oh but that's where you're wrong Napoleon. I've never needed it more'' Illya turned the gun over and round in his fingers ''I wanted to leave. I just wanted to leave. I asked you and you wouldn't let me. Why not Napoleon? Why wouldn't you let me leave? What could it possibly matter to you if I left? Or if I stayed? Oops forgot. You do want me to stay don't you? In there?'' Illya was slurring slightly now. Three quarters of the way down the bottle and nodding towards the bedroom. ''They all want me to stay in there. Doesn't matter what I want. They all want me to stay in there. Even the little waitress. Why doesn't anyone want me here?'' Illya slapped the floor. ''Not in the bedroom, here, where I'm more than just a warm body? Why can't I ever be more than that?''


	11. Chapter 11

Napoleon couldn't remember ever feeling this scared.

''Illya, give me the gun'' he ordered, the unconscious expectation of being obeyed in his voice, as it was always.

''I don't think so'' said Illya leaning heavily on his stick to struggle to his feet, amusing himself with his own ungainliness. He downed the remaining alcohol and said with a conspiratorial hush ''Need more vodka.'' Then he made his way unsteadily to the drinks cabinet and abandoned the gun on the drinks tray in order to pick up another bottle. He twisted off the cap and took another long swig before retrieving the gun and turning back to face Napoleon. Napoleon was watching him with the attention of a hawk. The Russian's reflexes would be better than his inebriation might suggest to the unwise, but even Illya reached a point where he lost that edge. He was close to it now. But the Russian would know this and he would make his move before he reached it. Napoleon had never needed his instincts more. Illya took another swig and smiled benignly at him. 

Napoleon didn't hesitate, he closed the gap between them in less than a heartbeat and struck with the speed of rattler. His fist finding Illya's jaw with the force of a pile driver. 

Illya's head snapped back and he crumpled instantly. Napoleon wrenched the gun from his grasp and then he grabbed Illya's from its holster. He locked them both back in the room safe before pulling Illya over his shoulder to deposit him on the couch. Illya stirred after a few minutes, mumbling drowsily. Napoleon knelt beside him, brushing the hair from his eyes. 

''Illya, you stupid Russian. What did you think you were doing?''

''More than one way to leave. Some more permanent than others...won't be just another...told you...not for anyone...not again...know your rules...'' Illya breathed determinedly before Napoleon lost him again.

''No, but you'll scare me half to death. I never said there wouldn't be love you stupid Russian. I want all of you. Just as much here as in there. The only thing I don't want is to lose you. Not to THRUSH, not to U.N.C.L.E., not to the comfort of an understanding Romanian, not to any damn snake and most definitely not to a stupid stunt like the one you tried to pull tonight.''

Illya breathed in and out and ignored him.

''Stupid Russian'' repeated Napoleon and left to get something from the bedroom to cover him with. He blanketed the sleeping Russian with a bedspread and put a pillow under his head. Illya's face looked peacefully carefree, more so than he ever did awake, and certainly more than at any time since Napoleon had kissed him. ''Where do we go from here?'' Napoleon enquired tenderly of the unconscious Russian. 

Illya said nothing, but his breathing was calm and regular and for tonight that was more than enough for Napoleon.

Napoleon slept in the armchair that night. Terrified to leave Illya alone. He slept fitfully, waking with every movement the Russian made. Illya continued to mumble in his sleep, but Napoleon couldn't make out the words. 

Napoleon gave up trying to sleep as the sun crept round the blinds promising another brilliantly golden day.

He called room service and ordered a cooked breakfast and plenty of coffee. Then he showered and dressed.

Breakfast arrived as he returned to the living room to check on Illya. The waiter who delivered the meal cast a quizzical eye at the slumbering Russian but had clearly been at his craft too long to be anything more than indifferently curious. 

Even the smell of bacon and scrambled eggs hadn't roused the sleeping beauty. Napoleon knelt at Illya's head. He'd given his partner quite a thump last night and Illya had been neither fit nor sober.

''Illya?'' he tried softly. The Russian didn't stir. He tried again, brushing the Russian's hair from his forehead ''Illya?''

''Not again...'' Illya mumbled. Napoleon felt something slice through him. He'd meant to push the Russian, to give him nowhere to run, but not to dismantle him.

''Illya, please, wake up. Let me know you're okay. I need to know that. The rest we can work out. Just so long as you're okay.''

''Please Napoleon, leave me alone'' mumbled the Russian, but whether in response to dream or reality was anyone's guess.

''I'll leave you alone if that's what it takes, just wake up and let me know you're okay'' Napoleon bargained.

''Napoleon?'' confused dopey eyes finally opened.

''Hello'' said Napoleon ''How do you feel?''

Illya raised himself slowly, wincing even against the limited light filtering past the still closed blinds. ''Lousy.'' 

''Do you remember much of last night?'' asked Napoleon cautiously.

Illya gave him a wary look from beneath the fringes of his hair. ''I drank more vodka than was probably prudent'' he said.

''Do you remember why?'' asked Napoleon.

Illya shifted, looking about as if he'd lost something.

Napoleon retrieved his walking stick ''Looking for this?''

Illya took it almost bashfully but didn't say a word. He eased himself to his feet with difficulty. Napoleon had risen to his own feet to get the walking stick, now he stood back to avoid crowding his unsteady partner.

Illya moved a few paces then just stood indecisively.

''Would you like some breakfast?'' Napoleon tried.

Illya looked at him blankly as if the answer to that particular riddle was beyond him.

Napoleon decided his best hope was impersonal efficiency. ''Come on Illya, sit in the chair and I'll get you some breakfast'' he said briskly, adopting his best head nurse demeanour and moving forward to assist the Russian. 

Illya backed away instantly, tangling with his stick and falling heavily, hitting his head on the corner of the breakfast trolley. He struggled to sit up, a minor gash oozing blood at his hairline. Matting in the hair above his eyebrows. 

Illya raised tentative fingers to the wound. Napoleon dropped to his knees and caught his hand before it reached the injury. ''It's a cut, it's bleeding'' he said. Then he pulled out a handkerchief, dipped it in the water jug which had arrived with the breakfast and dabbed away the blood. Illya didn't protest but every muscle he had was rigid with tension. Napoleon handed the handkerchief to his partner and stood away. Illya relaxed a little but not by much. He sat, gazing up at Napoleon as if he were a THRUSH henchman, pressing the handkerchief to his forehead. Napoleon had seen that warily defiant look so many times, but it had never before been meant for him. Just what had he done? 

''Illya I really think you need to eat something'' he said taking a tentative step forward. Illya tensed again. Napoleon stepped back. ''Look I'll stand over here'' he offered, moving towards the drinks cabinet ''You get up in your own time.''

Illya's eyes followed him with a wary suspicion until he was standing in front of the little cabinet. ''Would you have raped me?'' Illya suddenly asked. ''If I hadn't taken your gun, would you have raped me?''

Napoleon's innards froze. What did he say? He'd wanted to force the Russian, yes. But what he'd wanted to force was a consent. An admission. Honesty. An end to denial. But what he had done was to kiss Illya by coercion. Impose intimacies he'd fought. Force contact the Russian hadn't wanted. Would he have gone further if the Russian hadn't been so adept at survival? Was he that kind of man?

''I'd like to think not'' he said honestly. 

As an admission it held little nobility, but Illya relaxed, perhaps honesty was more important. They had never lied to each other. Teased, deceived and protected, but no lies, not about the important things.

Illya held out a hand and Napoleon moved gratefully to help him up and settle him in the armchair. ''Then why?'' asked Illya.

''I don't want to lose you. Not for any reason. Not to someone you don't love. A sop to a convention neither of us can live by. I didn't want to live in that kind of misery without at least having tried.'' 

''I can live by it Napoleon'' Illya replied with quiet solemnity. 


	12. Chapter 12

And so that was it; an end to dreams. The Russian had made his choice. He would live a quiet and dignified lie, which Napoleon had left himself with no choice but to respect or lose his partner for good. 

Napoleon was mercifully numb. The pain would have been unbearable. After all the years he'd risked everything in a reckless gamble and lost.

Of course the Russian would marry Delia. She didn't love him. She wanted a life of consumerist glamour. Illya could provide that. He would fill her kitchen with refrigerators and washing machines. She'd have a car. Lipsticks and luxuries rare and unobtainable at home. All the coveted things. It would be a partnership. A mutual convenience founded on understanding and respect. On attraction but not on love. Love would ruin everything because love would demand too much of the Russian. As he had. 

Delia was perfect and he hadn't seen it. He'd not understood the power of his rival. Illya had tried to tell him, even that first day back from hospital, sitting in the little café, Illya had tried to explain.

He poured himself a drink. Illya hadn't eaten. At least not the breakfast he'd ordered. Illya had showered and dressed and left. 

He sat in the armchair and sipped his drink. There was the minutest smear of blood on the corner of the service trolley and he sat staring at that infinitesimal piece of Illya until room service came to clear it away. 

Then he got up and left himself. He handed in the room key and headed for the car park. He stood for long minutes contemplating the car in which he'd held Illya and demanded he stay alive.

'Tell him' Maria had said. 'He's my partner, he knows' he had replied a million years ago. He slipped behind the wheel of the car and pulled out into the sparse rural traffic. He had no idea where he was going. It seemed an appropriate enough allegory for his life. 

He drove for aimless hours until he realised some part of him still resided in the mundane realities. He was hungry. He pulled in at the next café he passed. It catered more for locals than for tourists and the menu reflected that. No plat du jour here. No young waiter to offer his recommendations and his solace. Just a welcomingly maternal matron who tutted at his frame and scolded him for not having more meat on his bones. 

He ate meat and potatoes and drank wine. Quite a bit of wine. He indulged in the local ice cream and left a generous tip, taking two bottles of wine with him. He opened the first bottle before he started the car. He continued his leisurely drive, drinking from the bottle and following the meandering byways. Halfway through the second bottle he misjudged a bend, slowing too late, and ran off the road. The car came to an undignified halt in some scrubby bushes. Napoleon tried reversing out but although the car responded it was caught on something and wouldn't budge more than a foot or so. He clambered out to investigate and found it snagged on the root system of the venerable shrub. 

A million years ago he might have called Illya, apprehensive of nothing but the Russian's scornful humour as the two of them worked in unison to extricate the car. Instead he pulled out an almost entirely inadequate pocket knife and began cutting away at the stubborn roots. 

He worked solidly for twenty minutes before the magnitude of the task became clear. He took off his jacket and holster, rolled up his shirt sleeves and set to work afresh. It took a couple of hours but he finally managed to free enough of the root to give him some hope of success. He got back behind the wheel of the car and tried reversing again. After revving the engine determinedly the last of the ensnaring roots gave way and the car shot backwards. He hit the brake hard and turned the car to pull in at the roadside in order to put on his jacket and holster. It was only then that he realised his communicator was missing.

He retraced the car's trajectory on foot and spotted the gleam of something man made in the tangle of nature's creativity. He bent down to retrieve it and discovered that it was smashed beyond repair. It must have dropped from his pocket before he took his jacket off and been run over as the car reversed. He put the remains in his pocket and headed back to the car. 

He needed Illya now. Illya was his only contact with U.N.C.L.E. Whether he was ready or not he needed to be with the Russian.

The unfinished bottle of wine rolled on the passenger seat as he drove. It made little impression on his senses. He drove on autopilot, barely aware of the road or the distance travelled. His mind filled with the anticipation of pain. Of seeing Illya again now all the rules had changed. Illya who would no longer be his partner exclusively and unconditionally. Illya who would be Delia's husband. Who would share with her the intimacy of his passion and the steadfastness of his loyalty.

He pulled into the car park, picked up the half empty bottle of wine and headed for reception. Mr Kuryakin was back, he was informed, and had picked up the key. 

He made his way to the room. Illya let him in. He was on the telephone, holding the 'phone in his hand and cradling the receiver under his chin. His face was grave.

''And what does that mean Doctor?'' he said.

There was some muffled speech in reply.

''I see. How serious?'' Illya responded.

Napoleon was frozen to the spot. In his misery he'd forgotten the blood test. He stood cursing himself for a selfish fool. Delia could have Illya. He would give Illya up to the uncertainties of a return to the U.S.S.R. He would do either or both gladly, if Illya could just be alright. If he would just be alright. 

''I see'' said Illya again ''Very well then, yes, I can see a specialist in New York.''

Napoleon found himself holding his breath as Illya finished the conversation, thanking the Doctor politely for whatever news he had delivered. Illya replaced the handset and returned the telephone to its place.

''I need to see a specialist in haematology'' said Illya soberly.

''Why?'' asked Napoleon fighting a surging panic.

''It seems the snake has one last sting in its tail'' replied Illya sardonically. 

''For God's sake Illya, just tell me. Please just tell me. If you're going to die...'' Napoleon's voice broke on that last word and tears filled his eyes, falling without shame. ''Please don't...'' he whispered.

''Don't what?'' asked Illya coldly.

''Die'' Napoleon replied on a ragged breath. ''I'll dance at your wedding if that's what you want. I'll do anything you need me to do. I'll be anything you need me to be, but please don't die. I couldn't take that.'' 

''Well then I would say your luck still holds. The snake venom triggered an allergic reaction affecting my white blood cells, untreated it might have proven problematic but monitored and treated I should be fine. You needn't be concerned'' said Illya. ''It does put the question of my return home into the realms of the academic. I doubt I will be fit enough for any form of field work for some months.''

''Thank God'' breathed Napoleon and suddenly he had no defences left, nothing to hold back the tide of emotion and he began to sob as he hadn't since infancy.

''Napoleon?'' Illya queried, concern replacing indifference. 

''I don't know how to live without you'' Napoleon sniffed, careless of his dignity ''I never have. But I will learn if that's what it takes Illya. If that's what it takes I will learn to give you up.''

''Takes for what?'' asked Illya alarmed and confused.

''To keep you safe'' replied Napoleon trying to bring his errant emotions under control ''to keep you happy and safe. I've never loved anyone like this before you see and it's killing me'' he finished apologetically on a watery smile.

Illya couldn't have looked more stunned if he'd seen Lenin himself at the head of the Imperial Russian Army.

''But your rules...'' he objected quietly.

''Never applied to you'' said Napoleon simply. ''I tried so hard to make you understand that. Too hard. I was crass and clumsy. For which I apologise. If it's any consolation that stupidity has cost me everything I hold dear. It cost me you.'' 

Illya stared at him uncomprehendingly and then slowly he smiled a shy happy smile. ''I have never been sued for breach of promise before'' he said.

Napoleon blinked disorientatedly, trying to keep up. ''I don't understand.''

''Then let me explain'' said Illya stepping forward and taking Napoleon's wet face in his hands. He gently kissed each of Napoleon's tear swollen eyes and then moved tenderly to his lips. ''Clear?'' he asked.

''Beautifully clear'' replied Napoleon and there were tears again, beautiful, joyful tears.

 

END 


End file.
